


Restraint

by diamondrough



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Gratuitous Smut, Light Bondage, M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Prompt Fill, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-05 23:42:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11588592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diamondrough/pseuds/diamondrough
Summary: Mycroft arched an eyebrow, which somehow always made Greg want to kiss him even more. “You’ve been taking care of everything. Maintaining the economy, preventing world war, all that. Let me take care of you.”Kinkmeme fill, utterly devoid of plot, with some established-relationship fluff thrown in for good measure. Also, Greg Lestrade is a talker.





	Restraint

When Greg Lestrade’s mobile lit up and buzzed against the dark wood of his desk, he immediately stopped typing to glance over the text, feeling the unusual and deeply welcome sensation of worried tension leaving his neck and shoulders as he read.

_Situation mostly de-escalated and reasonably contained. Will be home tonight. MH_

He’d been hypervigilant over every notification for weeks, hoping to hear some kind of update (even if only another terse assurance from Anthea that yes, Mycroft was still alive and no, he was not yet finished the precarious and deeply secretive negotiations in God knows what locale). After a year together Greg had mostly got used to the peaks and troughs of worry that came with dating the British government, but these occasional lengthy radio silences never got less unsettling. Too much space for his imagination to fill in the blanks, not helped by the necessary caginess surrounding Mycroft’s more delicate work and the wealth of gory material accumulated over decades of policing.

Greg ran a hand through his hair and scrubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. No matter, now. Worries could wait till next they were needed - right now, he had half a lukewarm coffee and a day’s work still to get through, followed by the delicious promise of someone waiting at home for him.

_Good. Look forward to seeing you. GL_

…

Several hours, two interminable middle-management meetings, one crime scene, and a hasty retreat from Donovan attempting to rope him into something else later, Greg finally walked up the steps of the stupidly posh house stroke mansion in Belgravia that he’d finally agreed to move into three months ago. It had taken him that long to really feel like he belonged there, among the vastly expensive antiques and the Holmes family heirlooms and the literal fucking butler. Mycroft had irritably labeled this one of his few streaks of irrationality, and had done his level best to logic Greg out of whatever was holding him back from this change that would obviously increase the efficiency of both their lives. What had finally worked was less the relentless bullying and more the night they’d been discussing upgrades to Mycroft’s CIA-level home security system, and Greg had asked sleepily what was most in need of protection in the house, anyway - half-expecting the Crown Jewels to be hidden in a basement safe - to which Mycroft casually replied “You, obviously.” Going on about enhanced security details as though it were a matter of course that Greg suddenly outranked whatever internationally prized treasures might be hidden away there. He’d moved in a week later, feeling buoyed and rare, precious, a feeling that was new to him but rapidly becoming more frequent.

Greg toed off his shoes and threw his suit jacket over the back of the couch before turning and taking the stairs two at a time. He could hear the gentle hiss of the shower running and a frisson of excitement burned through him at the confirmation that Mycroft was indeed home. Home and currently naked and wet in the shower, more precisely. He’d been deliberately distracting himself all day, but the thought of joining Mycroft and repeating the previous weekend’s lengthy experiments with shower sex triggered a hot rush of lust. Just as he reached their bedroom and pulled off his tie, however, the water in the ensuite stopped running. 

“Mycroft?” he called.

“One moment,” came a familiar voice from behind the door, and Greg grinned. Seconds later the door opened and Mycroft walked out, naked and rubbing a towel through his hair, leaving it sticking up adorably on one side. Greg looked at him, already half-hard and feeling the aching pull of loving someone who constantly had to leave him behind. He strode over, took the towel from Mycroft’s hands and tossed it on the floor, and pressed him up against the wardrobe.

“Gregory.” Mycroft smiled softly, the corners of his eyes crinkling as his hands came up to cup Greg’s jaw, framing his face. 

“Hello.” Greg leaned in and kissed him, sighing involuntarily with relief as their lips met, pressing the length of his whole body closer against Mycroft’s as the kiss deepened. He tugged gently at Mycroft’s lower lip with his teeth and then moved lower, nosing across the lightly stubbled jawline and kissing down Mycroft’s pale, freckled neck, loving the small moans he got with each gentle bite. It had been too long.

“God, I missed you,” Greg whispered, deliberately angling close to Mycroft’s ear to produce a shiver. 

“And I as well,” said Mycroft, running a hand up Greg’s neck into his hair. “I’m sorry I had to be away for so long. The political situation was…tense. More or less a minefield navigation.”

“I honestly don’t know if you mean that literally or figuratively.”

Mycroft gave a crooked smile. “I’m not at liberty to disclose.” He leaned back in to take Greg’s mouth again in a kiss, dipping lightly in then brushing his tongue with his own. “I am glad to be home.”

“Mmm.” Greg smoothed his hands down Mycroft’s sides, then followed again with his nails, leaving goosebumps in their wake as he gently traced over Mycroft’s ribs and hips. Mycroft looked tired, his face just a little washed out and darker circles than usual under his eyes.

“When was the last time you slept?” 

“Here and there.” Greg looked at him skeptically. “I napped briefly on the plane. I’m perfectly fine, simply crossed a few too many time zones for one day.”

“I see. Come here,” Greg said, then pulled him backward by the hips toward the bed, sitting down and gently tugging Mycroft until he ended up straddling Greg’s hips and sinking down to rest his weight on his thighs. Greg looked him up and down, letting himself enjoy the luxury that was having a lapful of naked Mycroft Holmes, home again and looking at him with unabashed desire. He cradled Mycroft’s jaw with one hand and squeezed his arse with the other, pulling him close, kissing him deeper now and licking into his mouth. Mycroft groaned softly, shifting closer, his hardening cock brushing against the erection straining Greg’s trousers as he ground his hips forward. Mycroft broke the kiss to look down between them as he traced the outline of Greg’s cock through the fabric, biting his lower lip, then went for the zip.

It took all of Greg’s frankly excellent self-control and skill in planning ahead to stop Mycroft’s hand, taking both his wrists firmly and holding on.

Mycroft arched an eyebrow, which somehow always made Greg want to kiss him even more. “You’ve been taking care of everything. Maintaining the economy, preventing world war, all that. Let me take care of you.” He punctuated the offer by kissing the wrist of one of the hands he was holding, then planting messy kisses across the palm and sucking a finger into his mouth. Mycroft’s eyes fluttered and he followed the first finger with a second, watching Greg’s tongue as it traced up the length of his fingers. Hands trapped, Mycroft leaned forward again and scraped his teeth over Greg’s neck, then moved lower, tongue brushing over a nipple and then gently nipping at it. Greg gasped and jerked back, gripping Mycroft’s wrists harder.

Mycroft’s mouth quirked. “It may be difficult for me to simply remain passive in this scenario.”

Greg’s eyes flicked down to the foot of the bed and back, and he smiled. “Would you like some help staying still?” 

He reached down, snagging the tail end of his discarded tie from earlier, and sat up, gently bringing Mycroft’s hands behind his back and wrapping his wrists in the soft silk. Mycroft’s eyes widened just enough to be perceptible and he took a deep breath, flush beginning to rise in earnest from his freckled chest up to his neck and cheekbones. They’d only done this a couple of times before, but it had been intense and electric and Mycroft had loved it, judging by the new and desperate sounds Greg had been able to wring out of him. Greg finished wrapping the tie around his wrists, securing it with two knots and testing to make sure it was loose enough to still fit a finger’s breadth of wiggle room. He met Mycroft’s gaze and his eyes were already dark, excited.

“All right?” Mycroft nodded.

Greg kept eye contact, unblinking, and reached between them to run his hands over Mycroft’s thighs and take hold of his cock. He stroked upward firmly, once, twice, and it twitched in his hand as Mycroft closed his eyes, breathing in jerkily, his hips grinding forward into the touch.

“Look at me.” Mycroft’s eyes opened again, face flushed and pupils already blown just from the simple touch and the restraint. “God, you’re so fucking sexy like this,” Greg said huskily, hand moving again, slow, thumb rubbing gently over his frenulum and sweeping over the head of his cock. “I can’t decide what to do with you first. I could just keep you right here, jerk you off slow and steady, bring you right to the edge over and over until you’re begging to come all over me.” Mycroft groaned, leaning to rest his head on Greg’s shoulder and breathe against his neck. “Or I could get on top of you and fuck your mouth for as long as I please. I know you like that.” Greg’s cock was throbbing in his trousers and his breath was shaky from the combination of picturing the possibilities and listening to the small, delicious noises coming from Mycroft’s throat.

“But you know what I want the most? What I spent half the nights you were gone thinking about as I wanked in bed at night?” Greg slowed his hand on Mycroft’s cock, squeezing and eliciting another moan. He lowered his voice. “I want you on your hands and knees for me so I can rim you till you’re shaking with it. I want to lick you open till you’re so wet and ready for me, and then come inside that perfect arse of yours.” Mycroft’s hips jerked forward and he’d stopped breathing. Greg leaned slightly to speak softly in his ear. “Do you want that too, love?”

Mycroft took a shallow breath in and when he answered it was a whisper. “Yes.” He paused. “Please.” Goddamn. He knew exactly what saying please did to Greg. He shifted backward and pushed gently on Mycroft’s shoulder. 

“Go on then.”

Mycroft slid off his lap, looked at him with wide eyes, then turned so he was kneeling on the bed and sunk down, forehead resting on the pillows. Greg shifted slightly to grab the bottle of lube from the nightstand and tossed it on the bed within arm’s reach, then leaned in, bit at the softest, roundest part of his left buttock and soothed it with a kiss. “Gorgeous.” He shifted, sucking kisses lower till his mouth landed just behind Mycroft’s balls, then licked a slow line along his perineum all the way up to where the cleft of his arse met his tailbone.

Mycroft hissed into the pillow, “Jesus _Christ_ ,” his hips twitching.

“Stay still,” said Greg quietly, squeezing Mycroft’s silk-wrapped wrists together gently as he bent and traced his tongue around Mycroft’s hole. He teased for endless moments with light circles against the hot skin and soft licks up along the perineum. The sound of Mycroft’s erratic whimpers and the shake in his thighs went straight to Greg’s cock and he felt himself getting impossibly harder. He let go of Mycroft’s wrists to press a hand roughly against himself for some relief, then leaned in closer to give Mycroft what both of them wanted, squeezing his arse in both hands and licking hard and wet at his hole, over and over. Mycroft was moaning openly now, muffled only when he bit at the rumpled sheet, still in the habit of staying quiet. 

Greg pulled his mouth away for a moment. “Don’t hold back. Let me hear you.” He dove back in and lay an open-mouthed kiss on the soft tissue before pointing his tongue and gently slipping it inside, tonguing at the tight, quivering muscle. They’d not done this many times before, either, but he knew enough to know that they both got off on it, the idea as much as the sensation. Greg fucked his tongue into Mycroft as deeply as he could, revelling in the filthy wet sound of his mouth and the loud, breathy, shocked-sounding moans filling the room. He went at it for long moments, stuttering in his rhythm only when he couldn’t resist anymore and opened the button on his own trousers, fumbling with the zip till he could reach a hand in and rub his own cock. He moaned against Mycroft, fingers wet with his own precome, and received an answering gasp at the vibrations. _God_. Greg pulled away, feeling around for the lube till he found it and coated his hand, replacing his tongue in Mycroft’s arse with two fingers, then licking around them where he slowly pressed deeper inside.

Mycroft groaned, “Oh, I - oh - fuck,” unable to form a sentence. He was a quivering mess on his knees, his face pressed into the duvet and hips pressed back into the feeling of fingers and mouth, and Greg felt a hot rush of love mixed with forceful _want_. He loved doing this, and just as much, he loved being good at it: the high of feeling in control, of making this impossibly precise and competent man fall to pieces. He loved knowing he'd learned the map of this man, and earned the rare trust necessary to see him this vulnerable, to know the small and precious secrets of where he's ticklish and how much it took to make him beg when he’s getting fucked and what he sounds like when he comes.

He slowed the movement of his hand and stayed shallow, teasing just at the entrance, and leaned down close to Mycroft’s ear. “Is it difficult, not being able to touch yourself, or touch me?”

Mycroft groaned again, panting, his eyes closed. “Yes. Yes.” He was flushed from the nape of his neck all the way down his spine to where his hands were trapped.

Greg lowered his voice, half-whispering. “But you like it, don’t you. You’re so hard and desperate and I haven’t even touched your cock yet. You like giving up control, letting me take care of you, letting me do whatever I please with you.”

Mycroft huffed out something that was half-laugh, half-sigh. “Yes, I - ” He cut himself off with a harsh moan as Greg finally took hold of his cock and gave it a firm stroke, then began pumping him in earnest, eyes locked on the gorgeous slide of his foreskin up over the head and down on each stroke.

“Oh, I’m - close,” Mycroft gasped, then groaned with frustration as Greg immediately took his hands away, leaving him thrusting shallowly into thin air. “What - ”

Greg pulled him up by the wrists and flipped him over, pushing till he was lying on his back, hair a mess of ginger on the pillow. “I’m going to fuck you now, alright?” Greg grabbed the bottle of lube again, drizzling a generous amount into his palm and slicking it over his cock, gritting out an involuntary moan with the touch. He wouldn’t last ten seconds if he couldn’t keep it together, but he felt hazy with lust, hyper-focused on Mycroft’s skin and the smell of clean and soap mixed with sex and the feel of his arsehole as he smoothed over the soft skin first with a thumb, then with the head of his cock.

“Yes, yes, God, fuck me.”

Greg took hold of himself in one hand and pressed against Mycroft’s hole, slowly pushing till he was fully inside and then bracing himself with a firm grip on Mycroft’s thighs, spreading him open. Mycroft cried out loudly and it was so hot and tight and perfect that Greg stilled, letting a tremor move through him, not wanted to be finished before they’d gotten anywhere. After a long moment he eased out till, looking down between them, he could see just the head stretching Mycroft wide open. His mouth went a little dry at the sight, and as he thrust back in he leaned as close as he could muster. “You look so good like this. So perfect all wet and stretched around me.” He licked a hot line up Mycroft's neck and then bit, sucking a bruise just below where a collar could hide it.

“Oh, oh my God.” Mycroft’s eyes were squeezed shut, his head tipped back and a deep flush from his face down to his chest, hands still trapped underneath him, shifting on the sheets with each hard thrust.

“Goddamn, I’m not going to last. I’ve been waiting for this, waiting to be able to fill you up like this again.”

“Please,” Mycroft whispered, lips bitten red. Greg sat up, hooked Mycroft's leg over his shoulder and pressed in, snapping his hips over and over, searching for that angle that always made Mycroft squirm and beg. He guessed he’d found it by the desperate noise that ripped its way from Mycroft’s throat and the way he moved, writhing like he was trying to free his hands. Greg stayed there, thrusting shallowly, sweat running down his spine, rubbing over and over at that spot inside.

“I’ll give you what you want,” he said roughly. “You just have to tell me, love. Ask for it.”

“Fuck, please,” moaned Mycroft. “Touch me. I want - I want to come with you inside me.”

“Yes.” Greg licked his palm and took hold of Mycroft’s cock, firmly stroking in time to his thrusts. It wouldn’t be long and God, it was going to be good. He could feel Mycroft tensing around him, his moans losing rhythm. “Come for me. I want to see it. Come for me.”  He got in two more strokes before Mycroft was crying out, shooting hot against Greg’s hand and onto his stomach as he spasmed around Greg’s cock, drawing Greg's own climax out of him with another few erratic, desperate thrusts. He moaned long and wordlessly, vision greying out at the edges as he felt himself pulsing in time with Mycroft, the orgasm dragging on and on until he gasped and his muscles went lax. His mind was completely blank for a moment, shivering aftershocks sparking through him, till he registered the feeling of cool air on his skin where it wasn’t pressed up against Mycroft. He shifted, pulling gently out of Mycroft’s body and rolling over onto his side, exhaling a long breath.

“Wow.”

A low, tired chuckle came from next to him. “Mmm. Indeed.”

Greg turned and lifted himself up onto one elbow, pushing Mycroft’s shoulder gently. “Budge over, let me get this off you.” He gently undid the knots in the well-abused tie, pulling it free and rubbing at Mycroft’s wrist where it had dug in a bit. Mycroft sat up and stretched, rolling his neck.

“You all right?” It hadn’t been tied terribly tight but perhaps he’d been a bit rough there at the end. Any worries were swiftly put to rest when Mycroft turned and kissed him deeply, stroking a thumb across his cheekbone before lying down next to him. “I am well. _You_ are astonishing,” he said with audible warmth.

Greg grinned and shuffled them both under the duvet enough that they wouldn’t be freezing in the middle of the night. “You’d know.” They’d had variations on this conversation too many times to count, but Greg still inwardly marvelled at his luck at somehow finding his way into the orbit of this man. This man who was terrifying in his genius and power, but who Greg knew also - in addition to being incredibly hot - liked a lie-in on Sundays and had a deft hand with pastry and got surprisingly cuddly after a good orgasm. _Astonishing, really_ , he thought foggily as Mycroft draped an arm around him, smelling warm and familiar, and he slipped into sleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this kinkmeme prompt](https://sherlockbbc-fic.dreamwidth.org/75973.html?thread=260579013#cmt260579013), which was a new venture for me and a lot of fun.


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